They Call Me Kenny
by Tardisblueskys
Summary: They call me Kenny. They see me in my orange parka and think 'Oh it's just Kenny. Nothing special about him. He's just one of the boys.' They see my eyes, but they don't read them. They don't know my lies. ON HIATUS
1. My Name is Kenny

**Disclaimer- I do not own South Park.**

They call me Kenny. They see me in my orange parka and think 'O_h it's just Kenny. Nothing special about him. He's just one of the boys._' They see my eyes, but they don't read them. They don't know about my lies.

They are Stan Marsh, Kyle Brofloski, and Eric Cartman. Together we make up 'The Boys.' To other people eyes there's something special about the three of them.

Me? If I wasn't one of them I'd be like Dogpoo and The Boy with the Blue Cap. I'd be nothing. Even now the only thing special about me is 'The Boys.' Oh yeah and my curse.

I know what you're thinking 'This twelve year old nobody has a curse?' But yes, I have a curse. You see, I can't die. I know how it seems cool, but it's not. It's complete hell. I suffer every day from a random death. Then the next day I return and even my friends are always like "Oh hey Kenny."

They don't even remember, my countless deaths. Even if they saw me decapitated right before their eyes, the next day they don't remember. And added to that it seems like every death is more gruesome than the last. I've been hanged, stabbed, shot, spontaneously combusted, you name it I've done it!

But of course, no one knows. So I'm just the last of 'The Boys.' The one with nothing special about him. And they don't even know my lies. My numerous lies. My life up on Earth isn't my life. I have a much better life down in Hell, where at least they understand my curse.

Satan is like a father to me, and Damien is a brother. I'm considered more famous that Eric Cartman, when I'm in Hell. And I have to say Cartman's pretty famous here. I have my own room in Satans mansion, and my room is the size of an average house.

On Earth, I'm the poorest of the poor. My family are drunk bastards who only dream of when they'll get another bottle. They get high every night and drink every day. I eat frozen waffles and pop tarts for dinner. So which is better, Death or Life?

If I could chose I'd live in Hell permanently. But of course that's not how my life goes. I have to come back up into this hell hole, where no one fucking remembers.

I guess my story starts when I first died. I was only five years old, and hanging out with a not-so-fat Eric Cartman, a weaker Stan, and a younger Jew. Cartman was munching on a popsicle stick, yelling at Kyle about the best flavors of ice cream.

Typical.

Stan was just walking, ignoring me. He was completely engrossed in the fight. A white light flashed down the street, but I ignored it. The fight was too interesting to care. The honking of a horn. The squeal of tires breaking too fast. The impact.

It was too fast to understand what had actually happened. Five year old Kenny McCormick was going to die.

"Oh my god! You killed Kenny!" Stan said pointing at the driver.

"You b-b-bastard!" Kyle stuttered.

Meanwhile I was lying in the street, after falling face first onto the ground, as the light slowly began to fade and darkness took its place. I stared up, at nothing silently praying, not trusting my own voice. The driver rushed to my side. I felt him pressing his fingers against my throat. "He's gone." And as if his words were a sign from the heavens that was the moment that I died.

* * *

That death was followed by countless others and only rarely did I receive more acknowledgment than a "Oh my god! He killed Kenny!" and a "You bastard!"

I don't know, but two lines don't exactly make me feel fine after I just _died_. Call me crazy. You know what, Stan once even said "Well who didn't see that coming?" After one of my deaths. Talk about insensitive! Little bastard.

Yeah I know, you're wondering if this will be a story or an endless rant. But let me tell you, i could rant for hours about this stuff, but of course no one will believe me. Well I'll get to the story for you impatient readers.

* * *

"Yo Kenny what's wrong?" Kyle asked me.

"(You wouldn't understand.)"

"Ok then, Kiiaaalll give me the damn cookie!" Cartman said.

"Kenny, what's wrong?" Kyle said ignoring the fat boy.

"Kiiiaaaaalllll give me the cookie! Or I'll kick you in the balls!"

"SHUT THE HELL UP FATASS!"

"(Nothing Kyle.)"

"But…"

"Let it go Kyle." Stan warned him. Great now the star football player is the only one sticky up for me.

"Wait, I have to talk to him in private. Come on Kenny."

"(Shit!)" I said angrily, but I followed him.

"What's wrong Kenny?"

"(What the hell Kyle? Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. Me. Now go back to the table!)"

"Fine you don't want help, then I won't help you."

_'Thank god_' I thought. That kid's too pushy. My life is too filled with secrets for me to be an open book. Since I was a five year old, my story has been a sad, lie filled, tale. One of adventure and one of countless tragedy's. But no one remembers any of them. And telling Kyle even one of my secrets wouldn't help me at all.

"(Good! Maybe then you'll leave me alone!)" I yelled back at the retreating boy.

He just flipped me off as he walked away. Always the one to have the last word.

I followed his trail, defeated. When I made it back to the table the other boys stared at me. Even Cartman had a confused look on his face. "What the fuck Kinny? What's wrong with you today?" He asked me.

I pulled down my parka's hood. My dirty-blond hair pushed out into the open. "Everything Cartman. Everything." I dug back into my lunch, as the others stared at me silently. I was a mutant. A boy who couldn't die, and could somehow manipulate memories unconsciously. I wasn't like them. And they would never understand the difference between Me, and them.

I sometimes hoped that I'm just insane. That this stuff never really happens to me. But I was foolish. It was just a dream to be insane. I was immortal.

* * *

**I really don't know where i'm going with this. It just popped into my head and I wrote it down. R&R.**

**I have major writers block on this. It may just be a one-shot. I'm still deciding.**


	2. Welcome To Hell

No one spoke to me for the rest of the day, and Kyle kept shooting angry looks in my direction. Things were starting to look up for me.

My thoughts strayed to my curse. Why couldn't those assholes remember? I needed to know. The only thing that I knew was that it was because of the Cult of Chtulu that I had my power, and even that I'm not sure about.

I'm ranting again aren't I? Tweek twitched next to me, and gasped. "(What is it Tweek? Did the Underwear Gnomes start coming to you during the day?)" I asked the over-caffeinated boy.

"No. Gah! I saw lighting!"

"It's daylight. There's not a cloud in the sky." He was hallucinating again.

"No. I saw it, I'm sure. Ahhh! There it is again!"

I ignored his constant twitches. Poor kid. What did his parents do to him? But why should i care? I hate this kid!

When I died for a full year, he took my place as a fourth friend. _Took my place._ Do you know how insulting that is? Instead of grieving me and leaving my spot free, they take in the twitching boy. Was I that pathetic to them? That _worthless_? That you can use _Tweek_ to fill the void?

When the bus reached our bus stop, I didn't hesitate to make my way home. I ignored the others and just walked. Praying for it to go didn't help. It never did. I was cursed. I didn't want to see anyone today. I saw Kyle running towards me, a frown on his face.

"Sorry about what I said earlier, but please! Tell me what's wrong?"

"(You wanna know? Well fine then!)" I pulled my gun from the back pocket of my bag. I pressed it against my head. I squeezed the trigger before he could even attempt to say or do anything. As I fell I heard him scream "Oh my god, Kenny killed Kenny!"

I muttered before I died. "(You're a bastard.)" Then the light faded from my eyes, and darkness took its place.

* * *

I opened my eyes and groaned. I felt like there was a bullet lodged inside my head. The world in front of me spun in an endless circle for several minutes. Then it stopped, and I was able to see my surroundings.

I was in my bed, and there was a trickle of blood coming from where I shot myself. I cleaned it off my parka with my glove. I walked, with my head throbbing to the bus stop. I was always the first one there. I dropped into the snow, gripping my head as the throbbing worsened. That was why I hated getting shot most of all.

Slowly the others arrived, with Cartman having a happy look on his face.

"Oh god, what is it now Cartman?" Kyle asked angrily. A happy Cartman meant a bad day was ahead for them.

"Oh, nothing." They stood in silence for several minutes before I finally spoke.

"(Kyle do you remember me shooting myself in the head yesterday?)" I asked him.

"What are you talking about?" Kyle said with confusion on his face.

"(Great I shot myself for nothing.)" I complained under my breath.

"Kenny, what's wrong with you?" Stan said

"(Oh god. That's it. I'm not going to school today.)"

"You gonna play hooky?" Cartman smirked.

"(No I'm gonna die.)" And I waited for the bus.

"You're messed up Kenny." Kyle said as the bus sped down the road. I tensed waiting for it to be close enough. And I jumped.

The headlights. The honking of a horn. The screams. The car breaking too fast. The impact.

It was my first death all over again. "Oh my god! They killed Kenny!" Stan screamed.

"The bastards!" Kyle recited. I sometimes wondered who 'they' were. They were indeed bastards.

My dying body watched Stan, Kyle, and Cartman forget me and climb on the bus. '_Well at least I won't have to go to school._' Yeah I preferred Hell to school anyway.

* * *

I appeared in the center if hell. The spot that every new damned soul appears in. I follow the same routine every time that I die. The only times it changes were the occasions when I get into heaven, and that only changes when they need their 'Keanu Reeves'. Satan's still pissed about the time when I led the armies of heaven in a battle against his warriors with my golden PSP, but that's a story for another time.

I spent an hour walking to Satan's doorstep. The door swung open the second I stepped next to it. I walk to the fiery pit that Satan does his work in. Work involves both torturing souls who committed sins in their lives, and being forced to accept people into Hell.

I inform Satan that I'm here, I go to the guest room, which has become my room, and I watch South Park on T.V. I hate how many adventures I've missed with Stan, Kyle, and Cartman, because of my curse.

I've saved my friends from Satan once, but of course they don't remember. Hell I saved the world from a million years of Satan's rule and no one remembers.

Satan's still pissed that he let me make that wish. I really don't know why he still lets me live. I wish he could just decide. Life or Death. My life is simply just a limbo.

"Hello Kenneth."

"(Hey Satan.)"

"Kenneth, my son Damien requests your presence."

"(Fine.)"

"Well? Go!"

* * *

"Ah Kenneth! How is the fat one? Will he die soon?"

"(Good, but no he won't die soon.)"

"Damn. The fat one would be a good prize."

"(Sorry.)"

"You could kill him."

"(Hell no!)

"What did you say?"

"(Hell no!)"

"What did you say?"

"(HELL NO!)"

"Oh, didn't hear you. Just go back to Earth."

"(I have an hour to go.)"

"What?"

"(I HAVE AN HOUR TO GO!)"

"Oh."

"(Goddammit!)"

"Just take off the hood!"

"(That's easy for the Anti-Christ to say.)"

"It's just a hood!"

"(Exactly!)"

"What's wrong with you?"

"(What's wrong with you?)"

"Has it been an hour?"

"(It's been a minute.)"

"Shit!"

* * *

"Has it been an hour yet?"

"Yeah my three hours in Hell are over." I had finally pulled down my hood, so he could understand me.

"Finally. Shut your…"

"I know I've done this almost every day of my life!"

"Death."

"Shut the hell up." I pulled my hood up against my head, and shut my eyes.

* * *

**You wanted another chapter, so i got one. Hope you like it. R&R**


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